They say it takes a village to raise a child.
I’m raising six — and fighting like hell to keep them standing.
Six kids, five with complex trauma, one with special needs.
Six kids with broken hearts and broken trust, who sometimes turn their anger on the only people still fighting for them ( because sometimes feeling healthy love for the first time is scary especially with so much trauma.)
In the past year, we’ve survived hospitalizations, broken bones, stolen money, runaways, shattered windows, destroyed vehicles during a trauma response, punched out walls, even a destroyed toilet! — and a custody battle that feels like it will never end.
I work full-time. I make every appointment — neurology, 30 hours of B.I. therapy, dental, counseling, physical therapy. I sign them up for soccer, baseball, piano lessons, park days, and hockey games. I chase normal childhood experiences down for my children like it’s a full-time job. These children who have experienced such depths of trauma, need to experience what its like to be just that – Children.
I am exhausted.
I am furious.
I am determined.
Before this year, there were years of being kept away.
Years of living under threats, isolation, and constant fear.
I never lost custody — but I lost access, lost safety, lost the right to protect my own children.
The war didn’t start when they came home.
It started years ago — when survival meant escaping a life of control, fear, and silence.
And when I stood back up to fight for them, it set a new battle in motion — one that isn’t over yet.
But for the first time, my children are finally in a home — and in a school — where healing has a chance to begin. Where their trauma isn’t chaining them down.
And now here I am.
One year into parenting six children with broken wings and battle-scarred hearts, loving as fiercely as I know how to, even when it seems like it’s not enough.
Supported by a good man who stayed — who stepped into the fire with me — to save ourselves and the kids,
building a life out of ashes, not perfection.
This blog is not an advice column.(even though if asked for advice, I might give some)
This blog is not a pretty Instagram motherhood highlight reel.
This blog is a war journal.
A survival map.
A truth-telling place for the ones fighting battles no one else sees.
If you are here because you are barely holding on —
if you are here because your heart is tired but still beating —
welcome.
You are NOT alone.
You are NOT crazy.
You are NOT broken beyond repair.
You ARE loved and YOU matter
These are my letters from an edge. Past, present, and future.
Maybe they’ll help you find your way back too
If my words spoke to your heart, you can help keep this space alive:
Letters From the Edge 